Harry Dursley
by smarties2
Summary: Harry Dursley is an orphan, a strange little boy with a holly and phoenix feather wand. How can he live when every fiber of his being screams at him to destroy Tom Riddle, the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen. No Slash. Dark Arts Story.


AN: Hello everybody this is an auspicious occasion indeed as it is a start of a new story, a new fan fiction adventure if you will about a time and a place far away yet intertwined within the realms of canon's most shadowy secrets. Yes, I am talking about Tom Riddle's Hogwarts days, the beginning of Lord Voldemort, evil at its peak.

Anyways the start of this, the prologue might be a tiny bit confusing as it immediately thrusts the reader in a new era, a new setting, of world war 2 and the magical war against Grindelwauld. But no fear readers, all shall be explained within the context of the story as you keep reading. Harry Potter has a new life, with no memories of his old one, with a new name, yet certain secrets still linger, certain memories still remain within him, things that did not get wiped out when he performed the ritual to change things permanently... and stop Tom Riddle from ever becoming Lord Voldemort by assassinating him.

Harry Dursley  
Summary: Harry Dursley is an orphan, a strange little boy with a holly and phoenix feather wand. In turbulent times of war, it seems that he is at a disadvantage, even more so when every fiber of his being screams at him to destroy Tom Riddle, the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen. No slash. No pairings.

Prologue

The first time I saw Tom Riddle was at the train station, when we - the students - were about to enter Hogwarts. He was a muggle born obviously, his clothes in tatters and his frame scrawny. He looked similar to me in fact, because I was an orphan and he looked poor. In those days, it was war -- both muggle and magical - so there weren't a lot of resources to go around for orphans like me. Or it seemed, for people who did have parents, like Tom.

At the time I did not actually know he was an orphan, or that he would grow up to be the darkest wizard of the century. It sort of happened, a coincidental conversation between us that sparked a memory, or rather a memory of a dream, in which I held a wand much like the one I had currently, a holly wood covering a pheonix feather core, and sent off spells at a splendid rate, almost fantastic in terms of my duelling capabilities. It was like a scene from a story book, I was fighting three cloaked men, coming all at me, and one of them said to me, "Harry Potter, the dark lord will-"

And that was it. I never did remember the rest of what the cloaked man had said, nor that it mattered much, because as Tom approached me, his gait graceful yet lithe and hunter like, as fluid as a snake in his movements, I was at a loss, a blank, an empty hole in my chest.

I felt stirrings of something, smoke from a sizzling wound that had been reopened. Perhaps it was hate, perhaps it was simply disinterest and disgust but instantly I knew I did not like Tom Riddle.

"You're a wizard, aren't you?" Tom said, his face as relaxed as a laughing buddha, but his eyes were sneering at me contemptuously. There was something in those dark eyes, a hint of malice, a seed of evil.

I nodded, cautiously and did not even realize it when my hand touched my wand in my waist belt, ready to draw and fight. A part of me whispered, fight what, a little boy?

But this was no boy, this was... Tom Riddle, and his every action, his every movement, even his eyes screamed of a predator. I knew I had to tread carefully around this person, lest I fall prey to him.

"What is your name?" I asked, and I thought I half knew his name, a shadow upon my consciousness. He was familiar, like a child would be familiar with an imaginary monster in his closet.

"Tom Riddle," He said and held out his hand.

I knew I should not have touched, should have simply ignored him and continued looking for the entrance to platform nine and three quarters, but perhaps force of habit, how I had been raised played a part. Miss Timonthy, the maid who ran the orphanage, did not like impoliteness and good habits were ingrained in me. So I raised my own hand and with a foreboding feeling, touched his hand as lightly as I could.

Nothing happened.

Not at first anyways. But Tom squeezed, a firm handshake. Pain filled my world. A headache began to build right between my eyes. It was like a soft fluttering feeling at first, a pain that was a dull ache coming and going in waves. But it began to grow like a forest fire, and my hand was still touching his, so I knew it was Tom that was doing this, Tom that was responsible for this... PAIN!

The pain exploded instantly, all at once, and I screamed, pulled my hand back to my chest and clenched my eyes shut, fell to my knees and simply screamed.

My forehead hurt. I had never felt anything like this in my eleven years of living but at that moment I felt a lot older, a lot wiser, as if something that had been blocked was not anymore, like a veil had been lifted and I saw Tom Riddle for who he was at that moment, a monster.

I knew I was destined to kill him right then and there. It was the only way.

But first I had to escape, and collect myself. God this was embarrasing, the pain dulled and then dissapeared but looking around people were staring at me like I was some sort of a -

A memory rushed at me, or perhaps it was just a hallucination because suddenly I was small, very tiny, and in a cupboard with a fat man hovering over me, his face red with rage. "You-you freak!" He screamed and slammed the door shut, and I was shrouded in the darkness of a small cupboard.

Then the feeling lifted, vanished, as Tom's concerned visage and gleeful wide eyes filled my sight. I turned, half hoping nobody was watching and I looked around me, slightly humiliated before walking toward the wall where the entrance to the platform stood. I walked through it with my little suitcase, within it my textbooks and three changes of clothes, and went straight toward the train station. I didn't have a potions cauldron but Professor Dippet said I could borrow one from someone, said moneey was tight at Hogwarts and I would just have to make do with the essentials - a wand and used textbooks.

It was only when I was eating my ham sandwich Miss Timonthy had prepared for me that I realized... I never knew where the entrance to platform nine and three quarters was located in the first place! I looked out the window at the passing scenery and my heart was filled with wonder.

So it was true. I was magical.

I had never done any sort of accidental magic, nothing had shown up on my Ministry chart all throughout my childhood so Professor Dippet naturally assumed I must be some sort of half squib or something. I wasn't of course, and this was proof. What was this magic called, foresight? No... I had read all the books in the summer, I would find this gift, this ability of mine.

The mystery caught my attention fully, as I pondered over the implications of this almost paranormal event as well as the strange dreams I was having for the past month, right after I recieved my owl letter... addressed to one Harry Dursley who lived in the first bedroom on the second floor of St. Mary's Orphanage.

I wondered if I had a gift, a second sight, divination. The "Introduction to Magic" book for first years had a section on it, and I poured over the thin characoal gray pages until my eyes were tired and the text was blurry.

The train pulled to a stop yet I was still not in my Hogwarts robe. Only one thing resonated in my mind, a word that had caught my attention, because I had a feeling it meant something to me. From the bottom of my gut I knew this word meant something deep, substantial and utterly significant, a life or death matter.

Prophecy.

I sighed and while staring at the passing fields of corn a phrase hit me from nowhere - power the dark lord knows not.

Frowning, I wondered what did all this mean? But these morbid thoughts were lost amid a sea of childish excitement as I changed into my Hogwarts robes. My train compartment was empty which was a little depressing because I had hoped to make a few friends, but that was okay. I would have plenty of opportunities later in Gryffindor House.  
Somehow I knew that was where I would end up, for no logical reason that I could see. I was a piece of driftwood, dragged along with the current. There was no fighting this, fighting destiny.

*************************  
The lake at Hogwarts looked cold and creepy, like a floating swamp of death. I was frightened at first, but then there came upon us a little man waving a staff. He looked like a midget and I had to struggle to restrain a little chuckle, a mocking laugh, while I noticed from the corner of my eye the girl beside me also had the same problem.

"Come on first years, we are going to travel up the lake to Hogwarts on boats, isn't this exciting?" He exclaimed, "Let me introduce myself, I am professor Flitwick and I will be teaching charms throughout your Hogwarts education. Ladies and Gentlement, I welcome you to the world of magic, to the realm of your education and learning where you will undertake the most challenging years of your life up to now. Come on, then," he said while leading us all to a row of rickety old boats. I didn't think they would hold up against the harsh winds or the churning angry waters, but who was I to contradict a professor, perhaps the boats were held up by magic or something.

It was cold and I wished I had worn something over my Hogwarts robe, I shivered and looked at the girl beside me, who looked back. She was strange, her eyes were a pale violet shade, sort of like a sunset, but I think it was her scent that captured me most. It was alien.

"Do you need a warming charm on you?" She asked me, and held out her wand. Her hair was silvery and pale. "Here you go," She said and then waved her wand in a triangular shape, casting a spell that instantly put the cold away and warmed my body. I stopped shivering and looked at her in fascination. "What are you?" I blurted out before I could stop myself.

She was taken aback, and looked slightly hurt and irritated for a moment. Then she turned away and spoke in a low, almost warning voice, "I am part Veela, I didn't realize you were one of those people."

"What people?" I asked, slightly confused, and then, "What's a Veela? Is it like a pureblood?"

She chuckled, and shook her head, but did not reply as we entered the boats. I didn't mind, the sights, the sounds, the smell of the water, it was all breath taking to behold. I was excited, Hogwarts, finally I would learn magic, become a wizard, somebody great, somebody... what do wizards do anyways? I laughed to myself, and pulled out my wand. "Hey can you show me how you did the warming charm?" I asked her.

She frowned for a moment, and then said, "You can look it up in the library."

"What's your name?" I asked her, or I wanted to but I didn't. Something held me back, perhaps it was her beauty, or perhaps it was that alien touch that seemed to tickle my brain like a sugar rush.

I didn't want to talk to anyone right at the moment, because pulling up parallel to us was another boat, this time with a very familiar looking person sitting inside, chatting and laughing with a group of obviously rich pure blood children. He looked at me, his gaze holding both curiosity and contemptuousness, and I looked back boldly, as if with only a gaze I could petrify him... or something.

I suddenly noticed something on the horizon. It was a pink tentacle, like a snake. "The giant squid!" shouted Flitwick up ahead from the front boat that led us all. "Everyone keep your hands inside the perimeter of the boat, and do not throw anything in the water at the creature, or you will simply annoy it." His voice was magnified, but it was drowned in screams.

The veela girl wasn't laughing. She simply looked at the squid in fascination.

We reached Hogwarts soaked to the bone, because the squid had decided to play a bit. He wasn't that bad anyways, just a tad over excited I supposed. The Veela girl cast a warming charm on me again. She couldn't do a drying charm, she explained. Her mother hadn't taught her that far yet.

"What's a veela?" I asked again and this time I got an answer. It wasn't from her.

"Creatures that tempt you," said Tom Riddle, sneaking up from behind me, his countenance as calm as a pool of water that held no ripples. Inside was a churning miasma of hatred and evil, I intuitively decided, but outside, Tom had a mask on, a mask that would fool almost anyone. Not me.

I felt the darkness inside him, singing, whispering, cajoling at my senses. It was as obvious as rotting fruit, unsightly and disgusting.

I wondered if anybody else felt it either, but judging from the group of boys around Tom, it wasn't so.

They could not divine like I could, I decided. I have the gift, and I could tell what a person was like. Well at least I hoped I had the gift of divination, because if not that then maybe I was really a half squib like Headmaster Dippet said I might be considering I had no bouts of accidental magic.

He had told me Hogwarts might be a struggle for me, and I should make friends quickly.

So I decided to be nice.

"Temptation? What, like wave a pot of gold under my nose or something?" I asked.

Tom laughed, but it was a cold laugh. There was no joy in it, only an act, as transparent as glass.

"Perhaps you will see it for yourself later on," He said, "Isn't that right, Veela girl?"

She was angry, her face was as red as a tomato, and her eyes dealt daggers and death. "You seem like you know everything, but you don't, or you would not dare to-"

Tom's eyebrows rose in fake astonishment. "Oh I didn't mean to offend you," He said, "Please, accept my apologies, I had no idea you would be so sensitive to what is obviously a very powerful gift you have."

I could see it then, she smiled and her anger was forgotten.

Tom had won her over with soft words. This was my enemy, who I was dealing with.

I would kill him. I had to, there was no other way because Tom Riddle... was a monster. Only I could see it but it didn't matter, I knew what I had to do, or perhaps I did not. I was only a boy then, a boy with vague ideas and even vaguer theories, a frightened little boy.

But I think, even back then, I knew Tom Riddle was just no good.

And I had to do something about it.

I looked around at the great hall, where candles floated and students stared, where there was a sorting to take place, where the rest of my life would be decided right here, right now. At moments like these most students would feel nervous but I felt strangely elated, as if nothing would happen to me, as if the worries I had before about being rejected from Hogwarts, being told that I was just a squib and I would have to go back to the orphanage meant nothing.

I didn't want to go back. Larry would never let me live it down. The others - my friends at the orphanage, all muggles - thought I was going to some private school paid for by my dead parents, but I never really knew my parents and this was a lie. Only Miss Timonthy as my guardian knew the entire truth of it, but that could be because she was a squib too, or at least I think she is. Perhaps she was just born in a muggle family with a sibling as a wizard or witch.

But I digress, my childhood was boring, unbelievably so, just staring out the windows at bombs dropping from German planes, staring out into the corn fields that were our backyard, at the graphite road that led to a small town.

And this was perhaps the most important moment of my life, so why was I thinking, at a time like this about my childhood, about the orphanage? Perhaps it was nostalgia, or perhaps a small part of me did not want to become a wizard, wanted to be normal, a simple muggle boy making his way in the world.

I knew that could not happen. I was going to be somebody, perhaps somebody great, but perhaps not, that wouldn't matter. The only thing that kept me going was this inner conviction that learning magic was important, very much so if I wanted to kill Tom Riddle.

Professor Flitwick came and led us to a stool that had a hat sitting on it, the length of my arm at least. The hat looked like it had a face, and suddenly burst into a song.

"You may not think much of me,  
being a raggedy old hat but can you not see  
this is a magical hat!

Oh I am going to be sorting you  
Into wherever you must be going to  
so do not fear, but please hear  
me out as I tell you about  
the houses you will be sorted to  
where you just might meet your future spouses

Great gryffindor, so brave,  
Not a knave like others think but rather  
a Gryffindor craves  
what he most wants, nobility and courage  
perhaps this is where you first years will flourish

Or maybe hufflepuff  
so loyal so true

Or Ravenclaw as smart as an owl  
Can tell a fowl from a bowl  
And usually don't have scowls  
on their faces when they loose a book  
one thing you can say is they are never crooks

But for Slytherin  
you cannot say the same thing  
Cunning and ambitious and strange  
some smart some not  
but all want what the heart wants  
power and money

So come on by and put on this hat  
let me rifle through your inner core of thoughts  
And let me sort you lot!"

The song was strange but we clapped anyways, and Flitwick called us by alphabetical order. Of course my name came up pretty soon in the list and I made my way to the hat, put it on my head. It covered my eyes. Suddenly a booming voice filled my brain, "What have we hear, Harry Dursley, is it?"

The tone was lined with suspicion, but I thought perhaps it was the hat's normal way of speaking. "I think I should go to Gryffindor," I said, "That's probably where I am best suited for."

"You think so, do you?" The hat said, "Well who am I to try to change your mind, after all, I know more about you than you know about yourself. So perhaps you should let me judge which house you want to be sorted into, hmm?"

"Um, okay," I said, "Look, I don't want to draw attention, can we hurry this up?" I said hastily, hoping the hat would make a decision already. It really didn't matter what house I was sorted into anyways, I would learn magic and kill Tom when I got the chance.

"Murder?" The hat exclaimed in surprise, and then I felt a crawling feeling on my forehead, and the hat said, "Ah, I see, such a tragedy, but you will not find your task very easy you know, nor will you find aid from me."

"Look its just a day dream okay, I'm not really going to kill anyone. I mean I don't have anything against Riddle, its just that I don't like him. And if I go around chopping up everyone I don't like well there aren't going to be many people around," I said trying to lighten up the mood.

But I did want to kill Riddle. I just didn't know why.

I would find out though. I know I have some sort of ability, perhaps that is telling me to do this, telling me this is right.

"You have a good reason, but you will have a hard time finding it," The hat muttered. "I will sort you of course, that is my job, but a bit of advice, stay away from Riddle. You do not belong here, you do not belong in this place."

"Are you saying I'm a squib?" I asked, a bit annoyed. I could cast the lumos charm, and so what if Professor Dippet didn't think I was much of a wizard because I hadn't done any accidental magic, I would be just as good as anyone and prove them wrong.

"No, you are not a squib," the hat said after a pause of complete silence, "But you are not a child either. You are strong, brave and couragous, so Gryffindor might just be the house for you. But hidden underneath I see cunning, ambition, and a certain looseness of your morals, so Slytherin might be where you will succeed. You are loyal to a small degree, not hard working, never that, and you don't have a hunger for knowledge."

"So its between Gryffindor and Slytherin, hmm?" Well it didn't matter much anyways, the probability that Tom was in the same house as me was small. He struck me as a ravenclaw, anyways, a very menacing Ravenclaw. I mean, he knew about the Veela so he must like reading and stuff.

"Well as long as its not Ravenclaw," I said. Perhaps I was afraid of Tom, or just wary, but I didn't want to draw his attention.

As silent as a snake, as hidden as a shadow of a shadow.

"Definately Slytherin," the hat said, and then yelled out my house to the Great Hall.

I lifted the hat over my head, and looked around me, toward the cheering table. Slytherins, the house of the snakes.

I sat there, and watched the rest of the sorting in a sort of detached haze, like I was coming off a sugar high, drugged.

I knew I did not belong in this house. I looked longingly toward Gryffindor.

That was where I should be, my home. And now it was not.


End file.
